Archive: Nov 2013

And I know what you’re thinking. The perspective is off. I know. The hat is supposed to be more tilted. The toe of the boot also sank into the cinnamon abyss. It turns out pumpkin pie filling and raw crust are an unforgiving medium.

Why hearts? Because the original composition lacked balance, and I wanted to give Italy some Thanksgiving love.

Yes. I have too much time on my hands, but I do this every year. Last year’s swirly fall leaf design was a little classier though. Cherry pies suffer a similar fate around Christmas.

This year we are thankful for our family and friends and all the support and kind words we have received regarding our transcontinental move. We love you all! And of course we are also extremely thankful for the opportunity and experience of being here in Rome, it’s a dream come true for us.

I’m also thankful that our grocery store shocked me by actually stocking Granny Smith apples so I could make this little number.

All of this gray and rainy weather has me thinking of the trip we took to Spain this time last year, when moving to Italy was just an unattainable fantasy.

It’s been our luck the last few years to meticulously plan vacations that ultimately require rain gear. This trip was no different. The sun made a few guest appearances, but it was mostly a typical misty week in November. It turns out, to no one’s surprise, that Italy has the same Mediterranean weather. I’m not complaining though. I like crisp afternoons and stomping puddles in my rain boots. But now weather like this triggers warm memories of white hilltop towns, jambon iberico, vibrant tile-work, and paprika.

Even with the clouds trying their hardest Spain was still boldly colorful.

We landed in Madrid, but mostly used it as a place to catch trains, not because we don’t want to see it. On the contrary, we definitely want to give it its due, what we saw was beautiful. But at the time we were both really stressed and feeling anti-city and just wanted to take it slow and see the small towns, nap if we wanted to, and not have a laundry list of things to see. Since we only had roughly a week we chose two cities, Granada, because I was fairly certain I would not die happy without seeing the Alhambra, and Toledo, because it’s a Spanish treasure chest, and my husband found out he could buy a sword there.

First we started in Toledo, only an hour-long train ride from Madrid. But beware, even in the off-season we found out the morning trains were already booked so we had to wait until the afternoon. My advice is to book at least a few days in advance.

Even in pouring rain Toledo did not disappoint. The city itself is perched on a hill overlooking a river valley and rolling golden hills. You enter through the intact city wall under an enormous archway that looks like it used to house a gate or draw-bridge or both. The town itself is a maze of narrow cobbled streets, with venders selling leather, silver, and churros. We did as the locals did and stopped in various restaurants and tapas establishments where I mastered the phrase “Vino tinto, por favor.” It was also here that we first tasted Jambon Iberico, Manchega Cheese, spicy pork stews, and countless tapas with steaming hot bread. (I apologize, in my pre-blog life I often forgot to take pictures that weren’t selfies, so very few postable pictures exist of Toledo.)

There are many worthwhile things to do in Toledo, but for us the highlights were El Greco’s house, which was fun to explore especially if you’re a fan of his work, and the Catedral Primada Santa María de Toledo, which is up there with the Vatican and Notre Dame in my opinion.

First of all its enormous. I’m not sure we saw the whole thing, we lost track. Second, it was begun during the 1200s shortly after it was re-conquered from the Moors, and during a time when Toledo became the capital of Spain, thus it had excellent financing to support its grand proportions and plans. Beyond the breath-taking artwork, where stone angels dangle from skylights and insane heaven-high gilt altarpieces, probably my favorite part was the Sacristy, a small gallery on the north side. No one went in here, and I have to believe it was because they just didn’t know. But in this room we had a private audience with Valazquez, Titian, Goya, de la Cruz, van Dyck, Giordano, and of course about a dozen of El Greco’s paintings. And not just obscure early works either, I had studied several of these paintings in school, I think the altarpiece by El Greco even appeared on my art history AP exam. And I didn’t have to wade through a crowd to get to them, it felt as if they were there just for us.

After Toledo we took the train to Granada right in the center of gorgeous Andalusia.

View of the Alhambra from the Albayzin neighborhood

In so many ways Granada is, and seems to always have been a cross-roads of cultures. It was the last Moorish stronghold, but also the burial place of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabela. Musicians wail on Spanish guitars next to cushioned hookah bars. Elegant geometric patterns adorn Catholic churches. And you can order mint tabbouleh alongside cured ham. Time hasn’t stood still for Granada, though it obviously honors the past, it’s very much occupied with university students, banks, modern transportation, and a very lively nightlife. To us, it just felt like a exceptional place. The same feeling you get when you stand inside the Pantheon or look up at Monticello; special.

Typical side street in Granada. The whole city is carpeted in shell patterns.

We explored and got a little lost in the Albayzin, the ancient and still occupied Moorish neighborhood that sits opposite the Alhambra. At the top we stumbled upon one of the best views in Spain, complete with a cliff side restaurant where we ate pappas bravas, more jambon, and of course a few glasses of vino tinto while we took in the view. (This is also the place where my camera may have been dropped into a puddle of olive oil, so after this, my pictures have a bit of a halo.)

At night we were smart enough to take some very wise advice and book a tasting at La Oliva, a good move. Sometimes we bring up La Oliva out of nowhere, like we’re remembering a favorite childhood memory, or a dream we had the night before. We want to go back. For a reasonable fee, Francisco hosts a tasting of regional in season Spanish dishes for you and whoever else made the reservation for that night in a relaxed family style setting. We learned about the different types of Spanish olive oil, (sorry Italy, but I think it’s better), olives, cured meats, soups, fresh fish in saffron sauce, salads prepared with oranges, red onions, radish, black olives, cod, paprika, and olive oil, sherry, unique wines, gazpacho, sweet potato puree w/ vanilla olive oil, persimmon salad with walnuts, and finished off with a variety of nougats and more wine. I think we counted at least 15 courses. We definitely felt educated afterward, and Francisco was a gracious and charming host. I’m told that he no longer holds the tastings in his shop, but in the stone basement of a palace now. But definitely check out his shop, it has everything you want to smuggle back to the states.

But everything above was a just a bonus to keep us coming back, the real reason we came to Granada was to see the Alhambra, a 600-1200 year old fortress touted to be one of the most geometrically perfect buildings in the world. I didn’t bring my tape measure, so I can’t confirm this, but the effect of water, tile, and plaster were glorious. I could drone on about the harmony of the building with the mountainside, the ingenious gravity based fountains, the technicolor tile work that made me swoon, the power of symmetry, and the impossibly complex lacey details that covered everything, but I’ll let some of the pictures do the talking.

One of the many pooled courtyards.

Column and wood ceiling detail.

The famous lion fountain. The fountain is fed on four sides by the tiny streams inlaid in the floor.

Ceiling with icicle-like plaster detail imitating the kaleidoscope I had as a kid.

Just a sample of the color and detail put into every surface.

View from the top.

My usual criticism: it was crowded. Tickets have times assigned to them where they let in about 50 people at a time, but the walkways, and standing areas within the palace are relatively small, so the entire time you are in a shoulder to shoulder crowd. I cannot imagine this place during high season. Despite the near religious experience of being inside something so unique, we were a little happy to leave and be able to move our shoulders with bumping someone. However, what was just outside the main palace we found equally, if not more lovely – the terraced gardens.

I guess most tours don’t bother with this section of the grounds. Only a handful of other tourists were there. More trickling inlaid streams lead down stairways and lightly fed into reflecting pools that were visually even with the pavers that fed into larger reflecting pools. From higher up more streams were integrated into railings, where they popped out of fountains, and drained into more pools. The result was stunning. I want to do this to my own home one day. I just need to build on the side of a mountain, in a county with very loose building codes.

At this point we were wet and cold (as is our custom on vacation), but we warmed our legs with the hike further up the hill towards the Generalife Gardens, once used as the royal summer residence. I think this was my favorite part.

These were gardens that, again, no one was paying attention to, with tall shrubberies cocooning more fountains and pools, and framing sweeping views of what seemed like all of Spain. The small palace itself felt like an airier version of the main palace with pools and fountains, but also taking advantage of the views.

But it was time to leave. Not just the Alhambra and Granada, but Spain. Our trip was only six days. I wish we had more time. This country needs at least a few weeks just to view the basics. One of the most surprising things I found during my research was how uninterested so many people were in visiting Spain in comparison to its neighbors. Many seem to skip it entirely when they plan their grand tour. They are missing out. There is a uniqueness along with the top-notch food, art, landscape, and history. We came across some of the friendliest locals and the most generous hospitality we have ever encountered when traveling a foreign country. And the best part – its soooo affordable compared to the rest of western Europe! We stayed in five star hotels for a fraction of what we would pay in Italy or France. We would order café con leche and get bonus artisanal chocolates on the side. We would order wine and get an included plate of tapas to go with it. So you get a little more for your euro.

So I asked my Italian teacher today why I get strange looks whenever I say “no sachetto”, when a checker offers me a bag. After all, this is what my Italian phrase book says is the word for shopping bag. I got the weird look again from her and we clarified the phrase. First of all a bag in a grocery store is a “borsa”. Second, I’m pronouncing it wrong so it sounds like “saghetto” instead of “saketto”. So why the odd looks over the mis-pronunciation? Saghetto has two meanings. The first one is a type of small saw or file. And the other meaning is sexual.
So yeah, I’ve been mumbling crude phrases at the check-out lady/man for the past six weeks.

I’ve wanted to come here since this summer, when I was sitting on my couch in Arlington Virginia binge reading blogs about living in Rome. I thought we would get here sooner considering how high it was on our list. But it was on the other side of town, and quite often in this town of pizza, it’s hard to gear yourself up for a twenty minute tram ride plus a fifteen minute walk to find more pizza, even if it is supposed to be the best. But after reading yet another blog post about the establishment and it’s food celebrity owner, Gabriele Bonci, I decided this weekend was the weekend.

If the pictures weren’t already an indicator, I guess I should mention that word is out about Pizzarium. Everyone from the New York Times to Anthony Bourdain has raved for good reason. The shop is in a modest neighborhood, far from tourist crowds. At first we thought we might be lost, and my husband was sure I had lost my mind dragging him out there, until we saw other tourists trying to navigate with cellphones, and then a guy with a pizza box, and finally a crowd waiting outside one of the few establishments in the area. Most people were excited, like they were going to see their favorite band in concert, others were annoyed with the wait but curious to know what it was about.

Though we were starving at this point, we didn’t mind the line much, it gave us time to figure out which beer we wanted in the refrigerator conveniently located next to our knees (we chose Hoppy Cat – delicious!), a chance to contemplate the wall of flour, Bonci’s book and other last minute purchases, choose which suppli we wanted from the chalkboard, and most of all figure out the system.

I should mention that this is Pizza al Taglio, meaning it’s a rectangular pizza, cut with scissors or a knife, and sold by the weight. If you order pizza in a restaurant, then you are ordering Pizza Rustica, which is the traditional, round pizza usually made in a wood fired oven. Pizzarium only serves Pizza al Taglio, so you are able to try lots of flavors.

We don’t speak functional Italian yet, so this had the potential to be yet another nerve-wracking, hand-gesturing experience. But we were lucky, the nice man behind the counter spoke English, and patiently helped us through the colorful combinations. There were pizzas with arugula, anchovies, pancetta, chickpeas, potatoes, or completely plain. To make things a little more interesting, new flavors were being introduced about every 30 seconds, and the rectangles were being shuffled like Tetris pieces with each new introduction. Not feeling pressured, but feeling obliged to keep the line moving we chose a few safe options, and one a little outside our box. The nice man weighed our pizza, gave us a receipt, and took it to be warmed in the oven while we paid. When it was ready, we presented the paid receipt and he handed over the pizza.

We lucked out and got a street side standing table that opened up right as we walked out. I should alsio mention there is no seating available outside of a single bench on the sidewalk. There are a few standing counters and tables, but that is it, so be prepared to eat while balancing a tray. Starving, we dove into our selections of marinara, tomato and mozzarella w/ herbs, and ham with chick peas. I don’t know the Italian names for these because the server only told us the English descriptions. We got settled and took our first bites, and we finally understood what all of the fuss is about. It’s mostly about the crust.

It’s thick, but airy, chewy, but not tough, full of flavor, but not oily, firm, but not crunchy. The toppings are fresh and have a lot of flavor, but they don’t out-perform the star, which is the crust. I get it, I’d make the trek across town and wait in line again today if possible, it’s that good. And the suppli (a fried ball of rice, cheese, and in this case tomato sauce and magic) was amazing as well. I could have made a meal of just the suppli, and I noticed that some people were.

I get it, I might post about it again now that I know what’s up and try more flavors. When friends come and visit us, I’ll probably make the suggestion to make a detour here. I recommend combining it with a Vatican trip. It’s about a fifteen minute walk from there and waaay better than the tourist traps you’re likely to find right outside the walls. It’s also right across from the Cipro exit on the metro.